


signal lamp

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Kinda friends with benefits, Kissing, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Oblivious Mr. Harrington, Post-Season/Series 02, Supportive Mrs. Harrington, kinda idiots in love, sappy soft and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: Billy isn’t dumb, alright? It’s just that usually, back at his house, lights are off by eleven. Everyone’s in bed by eleven. It’s Neil’s rule and no one breaks his rules.Billy sort of forgets that the rule doesn’t extend to the whole population of Hawkins, so of course when he sees one dimly lit window on the exterior of the Harrington residence, he’s going to assume it’s some sort of signal lamp Steve’s set up for him. To identify his room.or, billy and steve wanna canoodle in steve's room but billy gets the wrong window.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 32
Kudos: 261





	signal lamp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nervoussis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/gifts).



> ahem. SUPPORTIVE MRS HARRINGTON. thats all.
> 
> (let "steve h stealing stuff from his parents to give billy" be a tag 2k20)

Billy’s back hits the wall and the heel of his boot stamps on the brush of the janitor’s broom, making the stick of it knock against the back of his head.   
  
He can’t bring himself to be a _bitch_ about it, not with Steve’s mouth firm on his, hands pawing at his tee blindly, trying to wrack it up. In fact, he _laughs_. Disrupts the kiss as he giggles, honest to god _giggles._ Like some fucking _girl_. Makes Steve laugh too, sinking his teeth into Billy’s lip and tugging. “One of these days,” he mumbles into Billy’s grin. “‘M gonna jump your bones,” he releases Billy’s lip to smear kisses to his jaw, humming moans into his skin. Billy thumps his head back and relishes the wet drag of his mouth. “Right there, in class. N’front of everyone. Christ.”  
  
“Damn, baby,” Billy breathes out. “What’s gotten _you_ so worked up?”  
  
“You,” Steve mumbles into the hickey he’s sucking into Billy’s neck. “Driving me crazy, Billy.”  
  
Billy chuckles at the ceiling, dragging rough fingers through Steve’s hair, tousling it enough to pass as sex hair. Steve’s marking him, it’s only _fair_ that he returns the favor _._ “Careful, loverboy. Someday one of the hayseeds outside is gonna make a connection.”  
  
“Good,” Steve passes his tongue over the mark he’d left before sucking a wet kiss over it. He lifts his head to kiss him again, deep and slick and, “Let them.”  
  
Billy’s so ready for a quick and dirty handy. They’re already undoing each other’s pants, laughing into each other’s space like idiots. Then the bell rings and Billy thumps his head back with a groan. “Fucking _cock nazis.”  
  
_“Tsk,” Steve tuts his tongue.  
  
Billy sighs. _“Cockblocks,”_ he corrects himself. Because Steve’s trying to adjust his _morals._ No slurs, no insensitive titles, no _f words_ around the kids. It’s either _that_ , or no kisses for a whole day and Billy’s a _smoocher_. He likes Steve’s stupid mouth. So.  
  
“I’m not going to US history class sporting a hard-on, Steve,” he pushes into Steve’s hand encouragingly. “Get to work. On your knees.”  
  
“Sorry, got class,” Steve pushes Billy’s hand away from the button of his own pants and shrugs like, _not your day._ Smug _fucker._ “But _hey,_ think about Mrs. Kahmann smothered in slug goo or something.”  
  
Billy huffs, pulling Steve in to press a smacking kiss to his mouth. “Fuckin’ hate you,” he mutters. “Y’gonna be at Vicki’s tonight?”  
  
“Can’t,” Steve sighs. “Have this _thing_ with my parents.”  
  
“Rich people thing?”  
  
“Mm yeah, dad’s business stuff,” Steve runs his hands down the muscle tee Billy’s wearing underneath his dark denim shirt. “Gotta dress nicely too. You know, button up, vest, _tie_ , thousand dollar watch, gotta look good for the _ladies.”  
  
_He sighs wistfully, just to tease. _  
  
_Billy rolls his eyes and looks away. This is the part where he’s supposed to feel possessive and snarl something. But the coals of jealousy glowing hot inside him are quickly dampened with. He’s not sure what. Just. The knowledge that Steve only has eyes for him. He’s hooked on him. Devotedly. “And when does this _business stuff_ finish?”  
  
“Around eleven,” Steve replies. “I’ll be home by midnight.”  
  
Doesn’t take rapierlike senses to get the implication. “Yeah?” Billy licks his mouth.  
  
“But I’ll be like, _super_ tired,” Steve’s eyes flicker up to Billy’s eyes. “In bed. Alone.”  
  
He’s such a bad flirt. It’s doing it for Billy anyway. “Would be a shame if someone were to disrupt your peace.”  
  
“Would be. I’d probably be too tired to change. _Probably_ be waiting for someone to get me out of my clothes.”  
  
Billy leans in, meaning to kiss him, maybe get him to skip class. But Steve turns his head away and Billy’s mouth brushes his cheek instead. “Tease,” he mutters.   
  
Steve straightens out his denim shirt and pats his chest with a self-satisfied grin. “I’ll see you tonight, Don Juan.”

…

Billy isn’t _dumb,_ alright? It’s just that _usually,_ back at _his_ house, lights are off by eleven. Everyone’s in bed by eleven. It’s Neil’s rule and no one breaks his rules.   
  
Billy sort of forgets that the rule doesn’t extend to the whole population of Hawkins, so of course when he sees one dimly lit window on the exterior of the Harrington residence, he’s going to assume it’s some sort of signal lamp Steve’s set up for him. To identify his room.  
  
He flicks his cigarette to the curb and twists his boot into it as he ties his hair up into a loose bun, looking right and left to make sure no one’s around to see him climb Steve’s house and call the cops to report an attempted robbery.  
  
He should’ve worn something baggier. The end of his jeans’ inseam digs into his crotch until he feels like maybe he’s _sterilized_ himself. He gives up on trying to climb the unclimbable and jumps onto a tree, climbs it all the way up and hops to the window sill. He looks over his shoulder, down at the ground to reassure himself that there’s still no one around, then he grasps the top rail of the window and slides in smoothly through silken curtains.   
  
He takes a spill to the floor, thuds with a groan before gathering the ribbons of his dignity from around him and bringing himself to his feet. “That effort I just went through? Better be fuckin’ w—” he turns around, mouth open around the O in _worth._ Instead, it comes out as a simple, _“Oh.”_  
  
Because this isn’t Steve’s room. _Fuck._  
  
There’s a man on the bed, reclined against the headboard in plaid pyjamas and rectangular glasses propped on his nose. He’s eyeing Billy from over them, chin dipped, and brows raised, the book in his hands forgotten.  
  
And there’s a woman, _undoubtedly_ Steve’s mom. Has his kind eyes even with the shocked expression she’s wearing as her brush freezes halfway down her hair.   
  
“Shit,” Billy mutters. “Uh. Wrong room,” he pauses. “House. Wrong house. I’ll,” he points a thumb over his shoulder and looks between Steve’s parents before turning around. “See myself out.”  
  
Mrs. Harrington folds her arms over her chest, the smile Steve has on when he’s _amused_ echoed on her own lips. Billy ducks out the window, slinging a leg over the sill as he grasps at the outer moulding.   
  
“Second window to your right.”  
  
Billy squeezes his eyes closed, _found out._ His lips pucker guiltily. He turns to thank her. Or maybe deflect her assumption. Won’t rise to the bait. He fucking. Bumps his head on the window frame and hisses. “Shit. Yeah. Uh, thanks,” he grumbles, then pushes the rest of his body out, internally fighting his itch to just throw himself and the last 3 minutes down to the concrete below.   
  
“Why are you sending a complete stranger to Steven’s bedroom?” he hears Mr. Harrington ask, confused and scandalized in equal measure.   
  
“Oh, Steve mentioned a friend dropping by to give his notes back.”  
  
Billy smiles a little to himself. Huffs a nasal laugh when Mr. Harrington answers with a bemused, _couldn’t he use the door? I think the window’s a bit excessive.  
  
_The struggle to Steve’s room doesn’t feel like anything because. He feels weighed down with want. Suddenly _fatigued_ with it. He wants. He just _wants_ so much. Too much. Whatever Steve would allow him.  
  
“What took you so long?!” Steve hisses once Billy slinks through his window. “It’s _freezing_. Close the window.”  
  
Billy does as told. When he turns around, he comes face to face with Steve. Doesn’t explain himself. Doesn’t complain about the ordeal up. Doesn’t even say _hi._ Just drags him in by the undone tie hanging around his neck and kisses him.   
  
Steve makes an _oof_ sound against his mouth, then smiles into the kiss and cups his elbows. It’s so right. It’s so _painfully_ right. Steve’s lips follow after his when Billy pulls back far enough to say, “Gotta ask you somethin’, loverboy.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Steve replies.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You’re gonna ask me,” Steve waves a hand. “What I prefer.”  
  
“You thought I came up here for a roll in the hay, Harrington?” Billy teases. “That what you did with all the girls who let down their hair for you?”  
  
“Shut up,” Steve huffs. “What is it then? What do you wanna ask?”  
  
Billy grazes his canine over his bottom lip for a hesitant second. “Just,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “If you wanna be my. Y’know.”  
  
Steve’s silent for a few seconds before he realizes what Billy’s asking. “Oh, _I know?”_ he echoes, embarrassment melting to something else. Something relaxed and playful and comfortable. “Gonna need to hear you say it, _loverboy.”  
  
_Billy tongues the inside of his cheek indignantly at the call-back of the nickname _he_ uses for him, balancing himself on his heels. It’s cute. Steve’s sort of maybe just a little bit _melting._ “Wanna be my…?” he prompts.   
  
“Mine,” Billy breathes out. “Wanna be mine?”  
  
Steve looks surprised. Billy’s not sure if it’s by the question in itself or the bluntness of it. Then he hums, scowling thoughtfully with a squinted eye. His face’s red. A muscle in his cheek’s twitching with an urge to smile. “That’s a little gay.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Told you. No preference yet.”  
  
He smothers whatever words Billy wants to spoutwith a kiss. Slow and telling, hand lifting to pull the scrunchie out of his hair, and Billy’s walking him back to his bed. He pushes him down on it, their mouths parting with a smack _._ Steve catches himself with his hands flat on the mattress, lifting himself to watch Billy pull his jacket off. Then toe his boots off. His heart’s beating so fast he wonders if Steve can hear it over the rustle of clothes being shed.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
He wonders if Steve can hear the way his own vocal cords curl around Billy’s heart, _ground it.  
  
_Then he’s crawling up the length of Steve’s body to kiss him again.  
  
Steve’s arms give out beneath him, Billy’s mouth pinning him to the bed, one forearm bracketing his head as his other hand smooths up and down his side, their tongues sliding together slow and wet. “Look so good in a tux.”  
  
Steve nods, dazed. “Look better out of it,” he reaches down to fondle the button of Billy’s jeans. Kisses him again. “Got stuff?” he’s patting at Billy’s back pocket, checking for himself.  
  
“No,” Billy whispers. “Jus’ wanna kiss you right now.”  
  
Steve looks up at him, lines between his brows loosening. “All yours,” he whispers back.   
  
Billy dips his head, barely has time to kiss him again before they’re interrupted by a knock on the door. He panics, like he hasn’t already given them away, and moves to get up but Steve tuts. “Door’s locked.”  
  
“Heard that!” Mrs. Harrington says through the door. “You boys get some sleep. I don’t want any frisky business happening under my roof.”  
  
Billy can vaguely make out Steve’s wide eyes in the dimness of his room.  
  
“You hear me, Steve?” Mrs. Harrington pushes. “No frolicking in the sheets, I _mean it.”  
  
_“Frolicking,” Billy huffs, rolling off Steve and onto his back.  
  
“Ok, _mom_ ,” Steve sighs out.   
  
“Blondie?”  
  
Billy slings an arm over his face to hide his warming face and cheek-aching grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he answers with as much politeness as he can muster.  
  
“Good,” Mrs. Harrington utters, more than a little stern. “And Steve?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“My scrunchie? _Really?”_ Then she leaves.  
  
“I’m keeping that scrunchie,” Billy comments into the silence. “Best fuckin’ scrunchie I’ve ever owned. It’s so soft. And damn, the elastic in there’s some heavy-duty shit. Y’know, I actually—”  
  
“Billy?” Steve breaks in. He sounds breathless, like he’d just dragged himself out of his thoughts and wasn’t even listening to Billy waxing lyrical about his mom’s scrunchie.   
  
“Mm?”  
  
“You gonna tell me how mom knows you’re here?”  
  
Billy turns his head to glare at him, hard as rock. But Steve doesn’t yield, brows rising expectantly. “Yes, sweetheart, your glare is _terrifying,_ would bring nations to their knees. Now answer me.”  
  
Billy huffs grumpily. “You didn’t _tell_ me which one’s your room, _alright_?”


End file.
